


My Best friend. My Enemy. Me. & Fire Whisky.

by msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Draco has a filthy mouth, Drunkenness, F/M, Fire Whisky, Hermione is... eager, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Never Have I Ever, Praise Kink, The Restricted Section: A Very Naughty Holiday, drunken games, harry is adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: What could go wrong with playing a friendly game of 'never have I ever' with your best friend, and your enemy over a shared bottle of fire whisky?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 49
Kudos: 998
Collections: A Very Naughty Holiday, Good Girl Hermione, Hermione Granger Wins Again, Kelly's Picks





	My Best friend. My Enemy. Me. & Fire Whisky.

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Firewhisky + Never Have I Ever  
>  **Warning: This chapter is NSFW**

"Never have I ever stayed in the library past closing."

If someone would have told Hermione six weeks ago that she would be sitting in the eighth year common room, knee to knee with Malfoy and Harry over the Christmas hols and playing a drinking game, she would have laughed them out of the room.

She would have called them daft.

She would have dabbed her tears away from the corners of her eyes and grabbed her aching gut.

Yet, here she was, lifting up her tumbler of Firewhisky and bitterly narrowing her eyes at the blond wizard as that smug smirk he wore so bloody well lifted the corner of his lips.

"I feel like I shouldn't have to drink." Harry shifted on the cushion beside her, his flannel-covered knee brushing up the length of her thigh as he turned to put his back against the arm of the couch. "I never stayed _willingly."_

Draco shook his head, lifting his own tumbler towards his lips. "The game's not 'never have I ever _wanted to,_ ' Potter." The tease was gentle, and would have been alarming had it not been for the whisky that settled low in her belly, making the unusual set of circumstances that had brought the two friends and one mutual enemy together on this cold Christmas night seem as normal as taking breakfast in the Great Hall. "Drink up."

Harry grumbled unintelligibly as he tipped back his tumbler, wincing as the burn of the liquor seared his throat. Hermione reached out to lay her hand on his knee, squeezing gently in encouragement.

This was her second Christmas without her parents. Last year, she and Harry had been in the middle of the Forest of Dean, woefully unaware of the holiday's passing. But this year—actually celebrating the season for the first time without their presence—their absence felt more _real_ than ever before.

It wasn't just that she had no family to celebrate with fueling her melancholy—no, she was woefully single as well.

Her short-lived relationship with Ron had ended as spectualarly as it had begun—with her walking into the eighth year common room to find him mid-snog with Tracey Davis. She should have known it was coming: his interest had been waning for weeks, and truth be told, she hadn't exactly been head over heels for him anymore either. But the bitter sting of his infidelity lingered, and the knowledge that half the bloody castle was aware of it made it even worse.

Ron blamed their love life—or lack thereof.

Hermione blamed his wandering eye.

Either way, they were clearly not meant to be. And although she had forgiven him—after _much_ groveling on his part—she was never going to see him the same way she had before.

Ron was simply a friend.

Nothing more.

_Nothing._

Which is why, when Molly had sent her an owl requesting her appearance over Christmas Hols at The Burrow, Hermione had politely declined.

She'd planned on spending the holiday alone at Hogwarts, enjoying her annual reread of Tolkien, and perhaps wandering the library until the early morning hours blissfully uninterrupted.

She'd planned on spending an unhealthy amount of time in her pyjamas and silently mourning the loss of her parents in peace.

But those plans of solitude were thrown out the window two weeks ago when Harry had abruptly ended his relationship with Ginny.

To say it had felt sudden was an understatement.

Hermione had felt bloody _blindsided_ by the announcement. They'd been happy—hadn't they? At least, they'd seemed happy, but apparently there were some fundamental issues that ran deeper than any sort of talking could fix.

For starters, Harry needed more than what Ginny could provide. He needed someone to steady his ship in murky waters. He needed love, support, and the family he'd always longed for. He needed someone to build him up, to help him through the aftermath of the war.

And Ginny? Well, Ginny needed Luna.

Harry wasn't mad they'd ended—he wasn't sore or even bothered. He'd wished his ex nothing but the best, embraced Luna, telling the blonde witch that she'd better take care of her new girlfriend, and he'd moved on.

Because that's precisely how Harry did things; he just continued on as if nothing had changed, as if his entire world wasn't just turned upside down in a singular moment.

Hermione had always admired that about him—even if it infuriated her at times.

"Alright, my turn," Harry hissed as he lowered his glass, emerald eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He tapped his finger against the tumbler, eyes flickering between her and Malfoy as he seemed to debate his tactic. "Never have I ever ridden my broomstick starkers."

"Oh, fuck you, Potter," Malfoy swore, his upper lip lifting in a sneer that didn't quite meet his beautiful grey eyes. He lifted his glass from where he'd held it on the back of the couch and drained the remaining amber liquor in one large mouthful.

"Told you I'd find a use for that dare, Malfoy." Harry snorted.

"Why on earth would you ride a broomstick naked?" Hermione was unable to stop the laughter that spilled from her lips as she watched Draco lean over to snatch their pilfered bottle of Ogden's Finest from the coffee table so he could refill his tumbler. "And moreover, how the bloody hell do you know about it, Harry?"

"These are questions—" Draco began before Harry could even open his mouth to explain—"better explained _not_ three drinks in, Granger."

 _Granger_.

The way he purred her surname made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, warmth pooling low in her belly. It was the Firewhisky—it had to be—because there was no bloody way she could ever find _him_ attractive.

But here, in the soft flickering light of the fireplace, huddled on the velvet-covered couch in their shared common room, she couldn't help but notice the way he'd filled out after the war. She noticed the angles of his face were a little less sharp now, and for the first time, he _almost_ seemed happy.

She didn't have to be told personally to know why he appeared that way.

It was far from a secret.

She'd been at the bloody trial for Merlin's sake. She knew Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were squirreled away in basement cells in Azkaban.

For the first time in his entire life, Draco was out from under his parents' rule.

He was free to do as he pleased, free to make his own decisions and choose his own path in life. And although it would likely take years for public opinion of him to change, Draco didn't seem to mind because he had managed to escape from the madness that had been his home life. He had changed. He was no longer the broody, spiteful young wizard that simmered in the hallway, jeering at her. He was finally allowed to be the man he always wanted—to form his own opinions and friendships.

But none of that mattered.

Because she most definitely did _not_ find him charming.

And she certainly was _not_ attracted to him.

"You're turn, 'Mione."

Harry's voice grounded her back to reality and Hermione pulled her eyes away from Malfoy. "Oh right… Uh…" Licking her lips, she ran her hands across her thighs, fingers flexing against the stretchy fabric of her yoga pants. "Never have I ever… uh… never have I ever snogged someone in the north tower."

"Really, Granger?" Draco shook his head, taking a small sip from his refreshed glass. "I think using your _lack_ of experience might be considering cheating."

Lack of— _wait a moment._

A pink tint crawled across her cheeks as Hermione straightened her spine in something adjacent to pride. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate, Malfoy?"

"Oh, Merlin." Harry groaned over the rim of his tumbler.

"That you're as pure as the snow falling outside—and that because of such, you shouldn't be allowed to use more sexually adventurous situations to your advantage." His arm fell on the back of the couch, long fingers curled neatly around his crystal tumbler.

"You think… you think I'm a virgin?" Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or smack that stupid grin off his lips. Maybe both.

"Weasel's sexual frustrations were no secret to the whole castle."

"Oookay. Maybe we ought to—" Harry tried to interrupt, but her hand on his knee tightened its hold, nails digging into the sensitive skin, silencing his words.

"Just because I wouldn't shag Ronald doesn't mean I'm a prude, Malfoy." Hermione leaned forward, forcefully setting her glass down on the table, causing a splash of the liquor to splattered across her palm. "Not that it's any of your business, but I have had sex— _loads_ of sex."

"Loads?" Malfoy echoed, his brows rising in both surprise and humour.

"Yes."

"Why not shag Weasel then?" His tongue drew across his teeth in an almost predatory manner, sending another flare of fire pulsing between her thighs. "You just enjoy being a cock tease or something?"

"Malfoy!" Harry barked, stiffening beside her on the couch.

"No, it's okay, Harry." Hermione glanced over her shoulder to her friend, holding his gaze for half a second before she turned back to Draco, a strange new determination pulsing through her veins. "Malfoy's just had too much to drink—clearly he isn't able to still his tongue despite being utterly wrong."

A low throaty chuckle filled the room, and Hermione watched as Draco tipped his head back, shaggy blond hair spilling across the dark velvet couch. She gulped when he turned the full force of his eyes back on her. "Prove me wrong, then. Show me the rumours about you being an uptight virgin princess are anything but."

"Fine." The word slipped off her tongue before she could even consider the repercussions, and she cocked a brow at Malfoy, silently waiting for his direction.

"Malfoy, stop being a prat." Harry shifted on the couch once more, bare feet hitting the carpet with a soft thump as he moved to set his glass down on the table. "This was supposed to be—"

"Suck Potter's cock."

Draco spoke the dare so cavalierly that it was almost laughable, like there was nothing absurd about the act. But it was the smoulder in his eye—a deep, dark evidence of some hidden desire that spurred her into action.

One minute she was between the pair, on the safety of the middle cushion, the next, her knees were scratching along the stiff carpet between Harry's parted thighs.

"H-Holy shite, 'Mione, you don't have to do this—Tell her you were joking Malfoy!" Harry squeaked, frozen under her touch as Hermione's hands curled into the waistband of his flannel pyjama bottoms. He tried to move back, sinking farther into the couch as if to evade her fingers but made not a single attempt to bat her hands away.

"Why on earth would I do that?" Draco crossed his legs, grey eyes glued to her every move as he lifted his glass for another slow drink. "I quite enjoy a show."

She should stop.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She knew Malfoy was goading her—waiting for her to tuck tail and run.

But what he didn't know was that not only did she have a complete inability to back down from a challenge, she also wanted more than anything in the entire world to prove him wrong. Of course, the alcohol that invaded her bloodstream wasn't helping her think logically about the situation either.

She pulled at Harry's pyjamas, watching as the small line of dark hair that ran below his navel grew thicker, coarser. Each tug lowered his pyjama bottoms until Harry's cock came into view. Her mouth grew dry as she took in his size. He was… well, she'd always known Harry was _blessed_ in that department. She'd heard the rumours, and had even gotten a glimpse on one fateful occasion, but it was only in passing, and certainly never this close.

They'd been friends for nearly a decade, spent holidays together, and lived in a bloody tent for almost half a year. She had inadvertently seen him naked, but it was different then, all shock and embarrassment. Now? Her steely determination was lined with a hint of desire as she ran her tongue across her lips.

Her left hand held the elastic low, pushing it out of the way as her right hand moved to curl around his semi-erect member.

" _Fuck!_ "

Harry's curse timed with a twitch of his cock and she looked up, watching his eyelids flutter as she adjusted her grip around his manhood.

Had he always been this attractive?

Sure, she had always been vaguely aware of Harry's handsomeness but he'd always been… well, Harry: her best friend. Never the object of her desire.

Leaning forward, she kept her eyes locked on his face—giving him one last moment to truly fight off her advance, watching for any objection. But when none came, she lowered her mouth to his cock, holding it around the base and running her tongue in a slow, experimental lick across his head.

The effect was immediate. She could feel him stiffen in her grasp, growing in both length and girth. She scooted closer to the couch, until her knees hit the furniture, and Hermione settled so her bum rested against the backs of her feet. Running her tongue down the underside of his cock, her ears pricked, listening for any clue he might provide to let her know precisely what he liked.

" _Uhh_ … 'Mione."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she began a slow rhythm, taking more and more of him with each downward stroke, until the small patch of dark hair that surrounded his manhood tickled her nose. She could hear his laboured breath, his soft groans of encouragement fueling her desire.

She felt a hand wind into her hair, collecting her curls from framing her face and holding them on the back of her head, helping guide her movements with a gentle pressure.

"Fuck Granger… you look so bloody good with your lips around his cock."

Her eyes flashed open, having momentarily forgotten about Malfoy's presence, and she was surprised to find the hand so tightly wound in her hair belonged to him, and not her best friend. He was perched just beside Harry, pupils blown wide with desire, his bottom lip swollen and red from where he'd chewed on it watching her.

"Do you like sucking off your best friend?" he purred, applying just enough pressure for Harry's cock to slam against the back of her throat on her next descent, her eyes watering in response to the sudden intrusion. "Such a filthy little witch, aren't you?"

Hermione whimpered—actually fucking _whimpered—_ around Harry's cock, and her hand that had been resting against the flat of his stomach flexed into his shirt as she tried to reign in her runaway desires.

This was a dare.

This wasn't anything more.

This wasn't about— _Oh fuck!_

One minute, Draco's eyes had been on her, a hand in her hair, the other resting behind Harry's head on the couch, and the next, he'd sunk behind her on the floor, his body tightly pressed against her back. She felt the distinct brush of his cock against her backside, his length slotting against her arse. She rocked backwards, running on pure instinct as Draco continued to guide her pace with a gentle pressure on the back of her head, forcing more and more of Harry's cock into her mouth, until it seemed to block her airway with each stroke.

"That's it, Granger… _relax_ … such a _good girl._ "

The wicked praise set fire to the last shred of logic she contained, and as if it were newsprint, she felt it burn to ash as a consuming irrational ache took its place—rooted so deep in her psyche that she vaguely wondered if the need was primal.

Draco's hand moved down her side, holding her steady as he ground himself into her arse, rocking gently in time with each bob of her head. Her eyes fluttered closed, the rhythmic sound of both wizards' heavy breathing and soft grunts echoing around her, masking the steady thump of her heart.

"Close Potter?" Draco purred behind her.

"Y-Yes." Harry's voice was low and gravelly. Had she not felt the rumble of his words against her hand on his stomach, she might not have even recognised it to be her friend. _"So_ bloody close."

"You hear that, Granger? You're doing _such a good job_. Maybe I should have a turn… you could ride Harry's cock while I fuck that smart little mouth of yours."

_Yes!_

She nodded, pulling her mouth from Harry's cock, a string of salvia trailing between his glistening head and her lips as she looked over her shoulder towards Draco.

It was the Firewhisky.

It _had_ to be the Firewhisky.

A slow, lecherous smile spread across his lips, his hand detangling from her curls so he could pet the top of her head almost affectionately before he glanced past her to Harry. "What do you say, Potter?"

She didn't dare look—not yet, not when the question felt so much larger than the small confines of their common room. She could hear Harry's laboured breath and feel him shift beneath her hands still firmly planted against his thighs.

"I… I… 'Mione… I—"

"Please."

She knew she shouldn't want this—there was no rational reason behind this desire, but the need that had sprung to life inside of her felt insatiable. Harry was her best friend, he'd always taken care of her, just as she had always taken care of him. This was, by some form of twisted logic, another iteration of that same need—to care for him in the most intimate way possible. There was no reason they _couldn't_ do this—not after the shite hand they'd be dealt as of late.

Pulling her eyes from Draco, she finally looked back at Harry, tongue sweeping across her swollen lips, tasting the hint of him still lingering there. "Please, Harry."

He had a hand in his hair, twisting and pulling his messy black strands into soft peaks. She could see the war that waged inside him—the struggle between being a good friend and giving in to whatever insanity that this moment invited. But when she whispered his name once more with a soft plea, something inside him seemed to snap.

One moment she was kneeling between his parted thighs, the next she was in his lap, his lips firm against hers, the taste of his tongue intoxicating her senses.

Her body fell compliant, twisting and turning whatever way each wizard guided as she felt two sets of hands traverse her frame. Her athletic trousers were the first to be removed, Draco's hands guided them over her hips and down her thighs to pool on the floor where she'd once kneeled.

Her top quickly followed, this time by Harry's hands.

The shame that might normally accompany such an act was long gone, replaced with liquid courage and the pulsing ache to have one of them—if not both—relieve a desire so primal and raw that it felt damn near biological.

"Turn her around, Potter. Let me get her nice and wet for you."

Harry's mouth left Hermione's, a low whimper spilling from her throat at the sudden loss of his kiss. His hands curled around her waist, guiding her backwards, until her back was pressed firmly against his front. She looked up to find Draco shirtless before her, somehow having divested himself down to a pair of black boxers that hung low on his hips.

Where Harry was bronzed like the sun, Draco was as milky as the moon.

She was trapped between two men that could not have felt more opposite, but both managed to strum a chord of need inside her that made her mind grow foggy.

Draco's tongue skimmed his lips as grey eyes trailed down her body like a predator assessing his prey. He moved closer, hands twitching at his sides as he sank to his knees, before lifting them slowly to press against the soft skin of her inner thighs. Coaxing her open, he pushed her legs apart until one draped over either side of Harry's thighs.

"Hold her steady, Potter."

There was no question who was in charge, who was guiding them all through this depravity. Draco knew precisely what he was doing, knew how his command captivated both Harry and herself.

Harry's arm looped around her waist, fingers curling over the soft jut of her hip. He held her still as Draco lowered himself, hands ghosting up her inner thighs, breath tickling her most intimate part.

The anticipation built steadily, his lips brushing across the junction where her thighs met her pelvis, teasing her with soft nudges of his nose, until she was sure that Harry's hold on her must have been difficult to maintain because her body positively vibrated.

"Malfoy, plea— _Oh Gods_!"

Her spine arched off Harry's chest as Malfoy's mouth finally found home, tongue sliding between her folds to slip across her clit in a slow, concise stroke. One of her hands moved into the silken blond strands, nails scratching at his scalp as the other curled around Harry's forearm, desperate to hold him in this moment with her.

" _Mmm._ " Draco hummed between her thighs, nuzzling softly against her cunt before he moved one hand to part her for himself. "You taste exquisite Granger… perfectly paired with whisky."

How he could make something so wicked sound divine was maddening, but for the first time in her life, she wanted nothing more than to hear Draco Malfoy talk, to feel filthy words caress her skin as he devoured her whole.

Her head fell back lamely on Harry's shoulder, hips canting against Draco's tongue as he brought forth pleasure she didn't even think possible. Her previous liaisons had never given her the opportunity for _this_ type of foreplay, and suddenly she felt robbed of the experience. Had she known this type of pleasure could be obtained from something so simple, she would have jumped at the opportunity when her neighbour presented it over the summer.

The combination of Malfoy's tongue working over her clit—swirling, flicking, dragging across the sensitive nub—and Harry's keen attention on her neck—nibbling and sucking against her pulse points and showering her scars and shoulders with love bites and nibbles built steadily until she felt poised on the precipice of something that was sure to swallow her whole.

"M-Malfoy, please." She gasped into the room, her hand lifting from holding onto Harry and she curled her arm around his neck, anchoring the wizard to her when his lips found a particularly delicious spot. "D-don't stop...Gods, Harry, I'm so _close."_

As if sensing her imminent demise, Malfoy's tongue moved faster, until she was _just there_ , seconds away from self destruction before his mouth was suddenly gone and the heat of his breath no longer graced her skin.

Her eyes flew open, alarm invading her psyche at the abrupt loss.

Why did he stop?! Wasn't she being good enough? She asked him so nicely not to stop—surely that was worth his compliance.

But her run-away thoughts about how she could convince Draco to return to the space between her thighs were blasted from her mind when she watched him rise from the floor, his hands pushing down his trunks to reveal his cock.

His hand was already curled around himself, fisting over his length in punishing strokes as he edged closer towards her, teeth latching onto his bottom lip. He looked about as contained as Harry did when her mouth was around his cock—barely hanging on by a thread to a scrap of humanity.

"Fuck her good, Potter… make her scream around my cock," he commanded, reaching out with his free hand to curl it around her jaw, thumb brushing across her lower lip, before applying just enough pressure to the seam of her mouth to push in and stroke across her tongue.

Hermione sat awestruck, as if drunk on the act, letting him fuck her mouth with his thumb. She felt Harry shift beneath her, guiding her hips up with his rough grip, before the brush of his cock at her entrance sent a jolt of electricity snapping across her skin.

Leaning forward, her hands curled around Harry's thighs, and she angled her body _just so_ to accept him easily. When she felt his cock breach her, stretching, filling her with a slow downward push. The fog that had clouded her mind grew thicker until it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

Harry set a slow pace, his pelvis rising off the couch to meet each fall of her hips, hitting depths inside her she didn't know were fucking possible. This was so much—too much! And just when she thought she couldn't take more, that there was no possible way she could do anything other than accept what he was giving her, she felt two fingers curl into her parted lips.

Draco forced her mouth open wider, guiding her down until he could replace his fingers with his cock. Wet fingers tangled in her hair, holding a tight fistful of her curls as he set his pace to match the rhythm of Harry filling her cunt.

"Gods, you're so fucking hot," Draco growled, his free hand dragging down over her spine, tickling each vertebrae as his cock slammed against the back of her throat, causing her to sputter against his pelvis. "Taking Potter's cock while you suck me off—such a good little slut."

She shouldn't like this.

His wicked praise shouldn't excite her.

But each filthy whisper only seemed to make the wetness between her thighs gush until the lewd sound of Harry's cock sliding into her filled the room.

She lifted a hand from Harry's leg to Draco's hip, holding onto him as he doubled his efforts, driving faster into her mouth as he seemed to lose himself in the moment. His praise slurred, growing thick with lust, until it was all he could do to grunt and murmur her name as he drove his cock into her mouth.

She felt him swell between her lips, cock pulsing with need, and just when she thought it wasn't possible for him to grow any larger, he yanked her away, the sharp sting of pain snapping down her spine as he angled her head back.

His hand moved from her back to curl around his cock, and he stroked himself to completion with a snarl, thick ropes of come splashing across her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her chest.

Beneath her, Harry moved quicker, as if spurred on by Draco finding his end, and the hand that curled around her hip moved inward until she felt his fingers reach to find her throbbing clit.

"'Mione." Her name sounded like a prayer as Harry whispered into her ear, fingers swirling the swollen bud between her thighs, driving her closer and closer until she was there.

Suddenly it felt as if she were coming apart at the seams, as if every part of her soul was slipping free from the confines of her body. She could feel her body spasm around his manhood, desperately trying to hold him deep inside as she lost herself in the throes of bliss.

The world faded as she fell backwards on Harry, her scalp still singing from Draco's painful grip. She couldn't even focus on the slow drip of his seed sliding down her body as she felt Harry find his end beneath her, his cock pulsing deep inside her.

She didn't know how long she remained like that—spread over Harry's lap, body lewdly on display for Malfoy, but when her eyes finally did open, they found Draco sitting on the edge of the coffee table, leaning back on his elbows, chest heaving with exertion as a slow, lazy grin tugged at his lips.

Their tumblers of whisky lay on the floor around then, the amber liquid long since soaked into the carpet—forgotten in the throes of passion.

"What do you say—" Draco began slowly, his tongue sweeping across his lips with a laboured breath—"we go back to the boys' dormitory and finish this off?"

"Finish?" Hermione squeaked, glancing over her shoulder to find an equally as sedated Harry, his eyes closed, a sloppy grin plastered over his lips. She felt his arm tighten around her waist, hand squeezing gently at her hip as a slow rumble of laughter slipped from his throat. "I uh… I mean you both… came. Aren't we… finished?"

"Hardly." Draco's voice pulled her eyes forward once more, watching dumbfounded as he sat up on the coffee table, a hand carding through his ruined blond hair. "I haven't got my turn filling that pretty little cunt of yours. I have a strange feeling that Potter would be more than happy to help me clean up the mess he made between your thighs, and I still haven't heard you scream my name yet."

**Author's Note:**

> Massive, Shouty Kudos to Disenchantedglow, BiscuitsforPotter & DreamsofDramione for Alpha/Beta Love & help & support talking me off a cliff with this piece.
> 
> Until next time. xx


End file.
